Whatever Happened to Mary
by Grlufear
Summary: Tristan discussing his feelings for Rory. I suck at summaries but I like to think this little baby is different from most Trory fic. Read it and review and tell me what you think.


Title: What Ever Happened to Mary  
  
Author: Grlufear  
  
Pairing: Trory  
  
Rating: R. Very Hard R (I'm a little unsure about ratings so if enough people write that I should change it to NC-17 I will)  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own anything from the Gilmore Girls, Tristan would be a lot more fun if I did. Also the title comes from the first track on the Stigmata soundtrack (which I would recommend listening to while reading this-or anytime at all for that matter). I don't know the name of the song or the artist (I just borrowed the cd from a friend), but it does belong to them, whoever they are.  
  
A/N: I noticed that all of the Trory's I read have very little to do with sex. Some have sexual tension, some actually have the sex act (actually I've only red three or four like that), but all of those seemed so...standard. This fic doesn't look at the Trory relationship like most do so a lot of people won't like it. Just remember… you've been warned.  
  
  
  
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I want Rory Gilmore.  
  
I know, I know, big deal right? Everyone knows that I'm in love with the girl. I practically follow her around like a lost puppy. It's a pretty good analogy; dogs love their owners no matter how badly they're mistreated. It's the same with Rory and me; no matter how many times she breaks me, I just keep coming back for more.  
  
But that's not what I wanted to talk about. Not our fights or how quickly the light-hearted barbs can turn into jagged knives. Right now that's not important, what is important, however, is how much I want her.  
  
Hell, everyone at Chilton knows about me, about the wild parties and the wild girls. The girls, a new one for every week, definitely a new one for every party. I am no virgin; I never dated girls for their minds, and with me it's always been about sex. But that's what everyone expects from you when you're at the top and I can't say I've ever really complained.  
  
I'm a teenage guy and teenage guys think about sex. Hell, teenage girls think about sex. All teenagers think about sex. It might not be the pressing issue that it has always been for me, but it's there. It's there the first time a guy wakes up with wet sheets from dreams about that pretty girl in math class. It's there the first time a girl sees some guy in the hallway and her first thought isn't 'gosh he's sooo cute' but 'I could throw him down on the floor and fuck him right now'. That's the way it is with teenagers, all hormones and exploration and whatever else the fuck you wanna call it.  
  
Which brings me back to Rory Gilmore-lately everything in my life leads back to Rory Gilmore- because sometimes when I walk up to her in the hallway she's got that look in her eyes. It's not an 'I adore you, Tristan, and I finally realize it now' kind of look, just this look of lust, an 'I think your hot and I like your body' and nothing more. I love that look; I love being the one that does that to her; our conversations are the best then. Every cut dripped with lust and the sexual tension so thick in the air that the people turn and stare in the hallway.  
  
That's what I want to be for Rory Gilmore. I want to be the one who knocks her off her fucking pedestal and makes her tread here on earth with all of the other lowly mortals. I want to show her life, real, three-dimensional, color-TV life. I want to expose her to things they never talk about in her little cozy, Leave It To Beaver, 1950's sitcom town; where not everything's perfect but at least its all funny.  
  
I want her to see the sexier side of life. I want to be the first person to make her cum. I want to fingerbang her in the back of my Porsche. I want to taste every inch of her body and make her talk dirty to me on the phone. And after I do all of those things I wanna just sit back and watch, because then, then she's gonna be wild.  
  
She won't be Mary anymore and she won't be the innocent virgin who blushes at the slightest sexual innuendo. Don't get me wrong, she won't be another one of the supersluts who populates Chilton; no she'll be different from all of them. She'll be comfortable with sex and fluid and so alluring. Everyone will want her and everyone will stare but she'll still be that same girl who tells everyone to fuck off.  
  
That's the gift I want to give Rory Gilmore, the release of that sensuality I know lurks just beneath her skin.  
  
It's a shame that will never happen. She'll stay with Dean for the next two years and she won't go to Harvard because he isn't there and she's been with him so long how can she possibly leave him? He'll move up from stock boy at the local market and she'll pretend she's happy helping her mom out at the local inn. They'll get married and have two kids; a girl that looks like him and a boy who looks like her. The most interesting thing they'll ever do in bed is one day he'll go down on her because he's afraid she's leaving him and he desperately wants her to stay.  
  
It wouldn't be like that with me; at least I don't think it would. I don't know what would happen really because I would destroy the very thing that attracts me to her, the innocence and purity I'm so eager to end. For all I know I'll hate who she becomes and I'll run. We'll split and it'll be ugly, boy will it be ugly. But she won't regret any of it deep down because it opened up worlds of possibilities to her, and she'll go off to Harvard cursing god for my very existence.  
  
But maybe, maybe it won't end that way. Maybe I'll be even more in love with the new her and we'll last. I will cherish her for the rest of her life, and I'll follow her to Harvard because hey I could care less about my education and Harvard is as good a place as any other. My parents will want to disown me for marrying beneath me but won't because I inherited all granddaddy's money and they need it for old debts. We'll move around to wherever her journalism thing takes us and her friends will joke that I'm her pussy-whipped sugar daddy who doesn't come alive until we hit the sheets.  
  
Kids worry too much about relationships now anyway, too busy being mature and proving they can Handle It to really enjoy love. Young love is supposed to be uncomplicated, free of hassles like 'have you been tested' and 'can you commit'. It's supposed to be about exploration and exploitation and full of shit you'll never do again because now you know better. It's not though, and I know that. Nowadays you can't sleep with the girl all your friends have had cause ten to one she'll wind up giving you something there's no cure for and everyone wants to be the one in a million high school sweethearts that make it. Fuck it, who cares?  
  
But what the hell do I know, maybe we'll 'go the distance' and Rory will tie me to our bed with scarves on our thirtieth wedding anniversary. She'll slip down onto me and lean forward and whisper in my ear that she still calls me The Evil One behind my back and then she'll ride me 'til we both pass out. Like I said, with me everything comes down to two things, Rory Gilmore and sex.  
  
Sleep is rapidly becoming a big hobby of mine because in my dreams the two combine in an utterly delicious way. I fantasize about her constantly. I imagine leaning forward and making her cum in the middle of English class by whispering naughty things in her ear, and sometimes I'm eating her out after school while she's waiting for her bus to arrive and spirit her back to the stereotypical small-town she comes from. My favorite, though, is when I space out when we're arguing because I'm seeing her slam me against a locker, climb on top of me and have her wicked way with me. Yeah that's a really good one.  
  
So I guess I've come full circle, and for all my spouting about relationships and how I'm so much better for her than her loser boyfriend; I guess it all just comes down to this one thing.  
  
I want Rory Gilmore. 


End file.
